We Weren't As We Thought - Were We?

Your letters from Chuncheon are full of how
you eat with Mr. Kim - he makes you drink.
Seon saeng nim means teacher, the children
gather round and stroke the hairs on your arms.
I see you frozen at the intersection with them
gathered, their stroking little hands.
You are given umbrellas and a shave costs
six dollars fifty. I think how we never got it right.
Our awkward handshake, how nothing was
how we expected or wanted it. Your urgency
and mine and how the days revealed
the nothing between us out of bed.
You're brave in this way. Walking all those
alien streets. You write of dislocation dreams.
I dream of you, singing.